


freeze this moment a little bit longer (make each sensation a little bit stronger)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets, part ii. [46]
Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Adam Bianchi/Annie Jeong, Background Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Podfic Available, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 18:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15394722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: The piece of paper that Steven hands him is a flier torn off one of the billboards around campus.There are cartoon hearts dotting the page, along with a surprising amount of text, and the more Andrew reads, the more dread fills him.In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, one of the campus clubs is holding a contest that appears to be a rip-off of The Newlywed Game. The club is holding an open call for any couples who want to compete, with the grand prize being free food from the cafeteria until they graduate.“Steven,” he says slowly, trying to resist the urge to crumple the flier in his fist, “you are aware that we’re not dating, right?”“I know, butc’monAndrew!” Tapping the paragraph that outlines the prizes with one long finger, he continues, “You seriously want to pass up a chance for free food for the next two years?” He sighs wistfully. “If we win, it’s going to be smoothie bar all day, every day, baby.”





	freeze this moment a little bit longer (make each sensation a little bit stronger)

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked to write Standrew + fake dating and because of who I am as a person, it spiraled into this ridiculous project, which truly does feature more fluff than you can shake a stick at. the drinking in this is technically underage because y'know, America, but there's not really enough of it to warrant a tag. typos and miscellaneous fuck-ups are all mine, per the usual. 
> 
> title from [Time Stand Still](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMSFqXGZ5TQ) by Rush, which is a _fantastic_ video to watch if you're feeling down because it's hilariously bad.

Andrew has always been a goal-oriented person.

Going into sophomore year, his list of goals is mostly comprised of ones that he’s sure are shared by ninety-five percent of the people he goes to school with: pass all of his classes (ideally with all A’s, but he’s willing to admit that’s a stretch goal), rely less on takeout and the cafeteria for his meals, get out of his comfort zone a little and try at least one new thing a week, whether that’s going to an art house film screening on campus or exploring a new neighborhood that he’s never been to.

But atop his list of goals is something that he’s fairly certain is _not_ standard across the board. 

Namely, make sure that Steven, his best friend, doesn’t discover that Andrew is pathetically head over heels for him.

It’s a goal that he’s had for almost a year now - it didn’t take long after meeting Steven, on the first day of class when they were paired together with Adam in their Intro to Film Theory class, for him to realize that he was crushing _hard_ , in a way he hadn’t experienced since junior year of high school, when he’d been paired off with a guy named Eugene for biology class and had to almost entirely stop talking so that he didn’t make a fool out of himself every time he opened his mouth. Steven is the personification of sunshine, has a smile brighter and more gorgeous than any fireworks display Andrew has ever seen, works his ass off and has the grades to prove it. He wears his emotions like a banner and is so damn enthusiastic that, sometimes, it’s almost exhausting to bear witness to.

(Sometimes, when Andrew is tired during one of their studying sessions or their professor’s monotone has him bored to tears, he finds himself staring at Steven out of the corner of his eye, finds himself wondering how the fuck he ended up lucky enough to have such beauty in his life in any capacity, let alone as his best friend.) 

Truthfully, Andrew thinks that his primary goal would be significantly easier to strive towards if it wasn’t for the fact that Steven is an _incredibly_ tactile person. Whenever the three of them separate for the night, he always pulls them both into a tight hug, like it’s going to be four months before he sees them again rather than twelve hours. Sometimes, when they’re walking across campus, he’ll grab both of their hands and swing them absently while he chatters away. Occasionally, if they’re watching a movie in class, once the lights go down, he’ll scoot over, until he’s really more on Andrew’s chair than his own, toss his arm around Andrew’s shoulders and whisper a running commentary into his ear rather than taking notes.

On those days, by the time their professor flicks the overheads back on, Andrew’s head usually feels ready to explode.

As is, even with the roadblock of Steven being a super touchy person, Andrew is just as determined to achieve this goal as he is his others. He’s determined to keep himself from ruining the dynamic they have, determined to simply keep his feelings contained in the depths of his chest until he either gets over them, falls for someone else, or straight up dies.

He’s already made it through one year. How difficult could making it through another be?

&.

He makes it to the end of January before something comes along that has the potential to completely fuck him over. 

He’s studying in the library, books spread out across the table in order to save spots for Steven and Adam. It’s cold and drizzly outside, but inside, it’s oppressively hot, hot enough that Andrew regrets buying a coffee, even though it’s the only thing keeping him awake. He’s thinking about texting Steven to see if he can pick something cold up for him, but before he can do more than pull his phone out, Steven appears from between the shelves, carrying a towering iced coffee and wearing a brown pullover that Andrew recognizes as one he accidentally left at Steven’s a few days ago. 

He immediately takes a swig of his own drink so that he at least has an excuse for why his face is bright red.

“Hey,” he says once he’s gathered himself. “You’re done early.”

“Prof had to duck out. Some kind of personal emergency.” Rather than sitting in the chair beside Andrew, Steven hops up onto the table, close enough that his knee is bumping against Andrew’s shoulder. “Why is your face so red?”

“It’s hot in here.”

“Here.” Steven passes Andrew his iced coffee, and even though Andrew knows that it’s going to be far too sweet, more like liquefied sugar than anything, he still takes a sip while Steven rummages around in his backpack. “Are you doing anything on Valentine’s Day?”

Andrew nearly chokes on his sip and painfully jabs the inside of his cheek with the end of the straw. He refuses to get his hopes up, but his stomach is suddenly abuzz with nerves that didn’t exist only seconds ago. He takes another sip to stall for time, and thankfully, when he belatedly answers, his voice _almost_ sounds normal.

“Nothing, as far as I know,” he says, setting Steven’s drink on the table. “Why?”

Steven grins at him as he triumphantly yanks a crumpled piece of pastel pink paper from the depths of his bag.

“Then I’d like to present you with the opportunity of a lifetime.” He thrusts the piece of paper in Andrew’s direction, and Andrew cautiously takes it, nerves climbing up out of his stomach and into the back of his throat. As he glances down to read it, his mind races with disjointed possibilities for what Steven could be hooking him into.

It turns out to be infinitely more terrifying than any of those possibilities.

The piece of paper is a flier torn off one of the billboards around campus, based on the thumbtack holes dotting the top. There are cartoon hearts dotting the page, along with a surprising amount of text, and the more Andrew reads, the more dread fills him, until it feels like he might actually drown in it.

In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, one of the campus clubs is holding a contest that appears to be a rip-off of The Newlywed Game, a show that Andrew’s mom was always fond of when he was younger. The club is holding an open call for any couples who want to compete, with the grand prize being free food from the cafeteria until they graduate.

“Steven,” he says slowly, trying to resist the urge to crumple the flier in his fist, “you are aware that we’re not dating, right?”

Steven shrugs and slides forward, far enough that Andrew is momentarily concerned that he’s going to slide right off the table and tumble into his lap.

(Which is _not_ an image he should be thinking of, not in any real detail, _especially_ not right now.)

“I know, but _c’mon_ Andrew!” Tapping the paragraph that outlines the prizes with one long finger, he continues, “You seriously want to pass up a chance for free food for the next two years?” Sighing wistfully, his eyes flick off towards the stacks, like he’s lost in a daydream. “If we win, it’s going to be smoothie bar all day, every day, baby.”

He says it like Andrew has already agreed to his ridiculous plan, which he decidedly has _not_. Admittedly, winning the grand prize _would_ be great; some of the cafeteria food (primarily the pizza and the smoothie bar, although he’s not as hooked on it as Steven is), is actually half-decent. If he no longer had to spend money on it, he could put that money towards something useful, like payments towards his student loan or an apartment of his own in a pet-friendly building. 

However, having to pretend to date Steven just so they can _maybe_ have a shot at winning some free food is definitely _not_ going to help him achieve his primary goal for the year. While they know each other pretty well, if they’re in it to win it, they won’t be able to simply show up the day of and wing it. They’ll have to actually _prepare_ in advance and come up with some kind of convincing backstory so they don’t look like utter jackasses up on the stage. They’ll have to spend even more time with each other than they already do. 

They’ll have to _touch_ more. Possibly a lot more.

“What about Adam?” he asks, hoping desperately that he can sway things in that direction. That hope dies almost immediately, once Steven shakes his head.

“He’s filming it for the club’s YouTube channel, so he’s out.” Steven’s smile ticks up as he leans even further forward and starts fiddling with the corner of the flier, which is still clutched in Andrew’s hands. “Think of it. All the pizza you could ever want. Do it for the pizza, Andrew.” 

Andrew knows that he could say no, and that would be the end of it - Steven has always been good about respecting boundaries, never pushes conversations once someone expresses discomfort, never touches people who don’t want to be touched. If Andrew said no, Steven’s face might fall a little, but he would respect Andrew’s wishes.

That would absolutely be the safest route to follow; just thinking about opening his mouth and saying no makes the dread filling him recede like waves at low tide. But the thought of seeing disappointment flicker in Steven’s dark eyes, even if it’s only for a moment, makes something else fill Andrew, something like disappointment with _himself._

If he says yes, he has no doubt that the next few weeks are going to be torturous, but he’s a damn adult. He can suffer through them if it means that Steven will be happy.

“Fine,” he answers, and Steven’s grin brightens like neon. When he passes the flier back, their fingertips brush. “But you do realize how much work we’re gonna have to put into this, right?”

“ _So_ much work,” Steven says happily, snatching his phone from his pocket and typing rapidly. “I’m going to sign us up now. Oh, and we’ll have to practice.”

“Practice what?”

“Looking like we’re actually dating.” Steven’s face crinkles into an expression that Andrew normally finds adorable but that currently makes him want to find an excuse to disappear into the stacks so he can catch his breath. It’s an expression that means Steven has an idea, and whatever it is, Andrew is _not_ prepared for it.

But still, when Steven asks if he can tries something, Andrew nods and hopes that Steven is too distracted to notice that Andrew’s fingers are wrapped around the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are points of white against his skin. With each second that passes with Steven remaining still, head cocked to the side and staring down into Andrew’s face, Andrew hopes more and more that the ground will simply open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

Finally, Steven cranes forward, far enough that Andrew instinctively moves one hand to Steven’s knee to make sure he doesn’t fall off the table, and presses a kiss to Andrew’s forehead. It’s barely more than a gentle brush, but it takes everything Andrew has not to drop his eyes closed or sigh aloud.

He knew that this was going to be rough, but it hasn’t even been five minutes, and he already regrets every decision he’s ever made in his life that has led him to this point.

“Was that okay?” Steven asks, sitting back up, mouth creased into a half-frown. Andrew doesn’t trust himself to speak yet - he’s fairly sure his voice will come out strangled - so he settles for nodding again, which makes Steven’s smile reappear in all of its glory. “Okay, good. If there’s anything I do that you’re not comfortable with, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Yeah,” Andrew answers. “Same goes for you.” It’s that thought that makes him realize that he’s going to have to reciprocate in some way, that Steven can’t be the only one being affectionate if they want this to look like the real thing. It’s a realization that he’s really not equipped to deal with at the moment, not when he can still feel the feather-light touch of Steven’s lips burning into his skin. 

“Yeah, of course.” Steven takes a loud slurp of his coffee before he finally slides off the table, drops into the chair beside Andrew and grabs Andrew’s planner. “Can you hang out tonight? We can start coming up with our backstory. Spin the tale of how our great love came to be.” His voice goes all sappy and saccharine, and Andrew forces himself to laugh even while he seriously thinks about bashing his head off the table.

“I can do tonight,” he answers, and Steven scribbles his own name in bright purple pen in Andrew’s planner, underneath the neatly bulleted list of assignments and readings he needs to work on.

“Perfect. What about Friday? Maybe we can get Adam to quiz us.” 

Maybe Andrew could simply transfer schools. Sure, he’d miss his friends, but at the very least, the chances of him ruining his friendship with Steven would plummet.

“Friday’s fine too.” Steven hums contently and flips to the page containing the entries for the following week, but before he starts writing again, he pauses and half-turns in his chair, so he’s better facing Andrew. His eyes are soft, as is the smile on his face, less of a beaming grin than something just _pleased_ , and Andrew falls a little harder before he can help himself.

"Thank you for doing this with me. It’ll be worth it when we win, I swear.”

Andrew swallows heavily.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, dragging his laptop towards him so he can at least pretend to work while Steven plans out the next two weeks. “I sure hope so.”

&.

That night, they meet up after Andrew’s evening class and walk back to his apartment together. Adam’s on a date with his girlfriend Annie, so it’s just the two of them, and even though they’re walking no closer than normal, Andrew is vividly aware of every moment that their shoulders bump together, every instance that their hands brush against each other. When they get inside, the living room has been taken over by Andrew’s roommate Patrick and a handful of his friends, so they head to Andrew’s bedroom. It’s not the first time they’ve been alone together in his room, not by a long shot, but as soon as Andrew closes the door, the walls suddenly feel overwhelmingly close. He cracks open the window to try and alleviate the problem while Steven flops on his bed, legs propped up against Andrew’s headboard.

“Can you pass me my laptop?” he asks, absently picking up the stuffed bear sitting in the corner of Andrew’s bed, a bear that he’s had since he was a kid, and hugging it loosely against his chest. He looks painfully at home in the space, and he’s _still_ wearing Andrew’s pullover. Now that he’s lying down, it’s easy to tell that it’s too big for him; the collar has slipped to one side, showcasing parts of Steven’s collarbone and shoulder that Andrew’s fingers are itching to trace over.

“Andrew? You still with me or did Professor Francis finally melt your brain?”

Andrew jumps slightly and hopes that the cold, damp air coming through the window is enough to get rid of the heat filling his face.

“He succeeded,” he answers, stepping away from the window so that he can pull Steven’s laptop out of his backpack. “My brain has melted. Can’t you see it coming out of my ears?”

“That’s disgusting.” Steven pulls a face as he puts Andrew’s bear back in its designated spot and take his laptop from Andrew’s hands. There’s not really anywhere else in the room for Andrew to sit - his desk chair is stacked high with laundry he still needs to put away, and he doesn’t relish the idea of sitting on the splintery floor for more than a few minutes at a time - so he reluctantly settles down on the bed. It’s narrow enough that even if he stays as close to the edge of the mattress as possible, they’re still touching in at least one spot, and he stares up at the ceiling to try and take his mind off that fact.

It doesn’t work, but charting out the topography of the stucco does give him _something_ to look at that isn’t Steven.

“Okay, so,” Steven starts, fingers tapping away at the keys, “let’s start with something easy. Who asked out who?”

If coming up with an answer to _that_ is supposed to be easy, Andrew really doesn’t want to know what other questions Steven has up his sleeve.

As the time ticks by, Andrew tries his best to pretend that this isn’t actually them that they’re talking about - instead, they’re working on a script, fleshing out some characters before they get into the plot of some project they’re doing for class. In bits and spurts, it actually works, but then Steven will ask another question, something like _which one of us initiated the first kiss_ or _have we met each other’s parents_ , and Andrew is yanked away from his fantasy land so that he can picture, in vivid detail, the situations they come up with. 

By the time ten o’clock comes around and Steven finally closes the lid of his laptop, Andrew disguises a sigh of relief as a cough.

“I think we’ve got a good start,” Steven says before he shifts even closer and drops his head to Andrew’s knee. “We can get Adam to start testing us on it on Friday.”

“Sure.” Andrew doesn’t know what else to say; he’s too distracted by the weight of Steven’s head on his leg, how badly his fingers itch to brush through his silvery blonde hair. Thankfully, before he can wrack his brain to come up with some kind of intelligent way to continue the conversation, Steven buries a yawn into the crook of his elbow.

“Do you want to watch something before I go home?”

Andrew knows that, unless they decide upon a ten minute video, there’s no way that Steven is going to stay awake for an entire episode of something, let alone a full movie. He’s going to fall asleep like he so often does, likely with his head against Andrew’s shoulder, in Andrew's bed, wearing Andrew’s goddamn _shirt_. The smart thing to do would be to tell Steven to go home now, crawl into his own bed and get some sleep. 

But somewhere between his brain and his mouth, there’s a translation error, because what he says is, “Sure. You can pick.”

While Steven rummages through Andrew’s DVD collection, Andrew goes to the kitchen to make popcorn and try to calm himself down. It’s not the first time they’ve slept in the same bed together, but he can still hear Steven’s words from earlier reverberating in his mind, spinning a tale about how Steven was _obviously_ the one who made the first move, the one who set everything into motion and kissed Andrew for the first time on the steps of the library.

Even though it was all make-believe, Andrew doesn’t think that he’ll ever be able to unhear those words.

When the popcorn is done, he goes back to the bedroom to find Steven sitting up against the wall, back cushioned by pillows, legs tucked underneath the blankets. As soon as Andrew flicks off the light, Steven starts making grabby hands for the bowl of popcorn, and Andrew hands it over while he slides under the covers too.

“What are we watching?” he asks, trying to keep at least an inch of space between them. His efforts fail - Steven shifts over a moment later so that they’re brushing together from ankle to shoulder.

“Back to the Future.” They’re already watched it more times than Andrew can count, enough times that he’s surprised the disc still works, and he changes his estimate of how long Steven will manage to stay awake from half an hour to twenty minutes.

He’s proven correct. 

Steven falls asleep with the bowl of popcorn still resting on his lap and his head awkwardly canted over to rest on Andrew’s shoulder. It’s a position that’s bound to be uncomfortable by morning, so Andrew, who isn’t quite ready to fall asleep yet, places the bowl on his nightstand and slides down a little further, until he’s half-sitting up. Steven snuffles quietly and moves with him, slumps over until he’s resting on his side with his head on Andrew’s chest.

Andrew closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and sighs it out. 

Only two more weeks to go.

He can do this.

&.

When he wakes up in the morning with a sore neck and a mouth that tastes like garbage, Steven is already gone, but he’s left Andrew’s pullover draped over the back of his chair. Andrew also has a text from him timestamped half an hour ago, dotted with no less than four emojis in typical Steven fashion.

_Steven, 6:50 AM: I didn’t want to wake you up. borrowed another sweater (sorry!) see you at lunch!_

Andrew lurches to his feet so that he can look through his closet and try to figure out which of his sweaters Steven took. His navy blue pullover is nowhere to be found, and he groans loudly as he drops his head against the closet door.

Steven is going to be _swimming_ in that sweater.

It’s too damn early to be this overwhelmed.

He has class at ten and manages to get some work done before he heads over to campus. Afterwards, he heads over the cafeteria to wait for Adam and Steven to finish up. He doesn’t have to wait long, and as soon as he sees Steven in his sweater, the sleeves dangling past his knuckles, his face ignites with heat.

And that’s _before_ Steven steps into his space and flings his arms tight around Andrew’s neck.

“The girl that’s about to walk by is the one that’s hosting the contest,” he murmurs, warm breath brushing over the shell of Andrew’s ear. “Can I kiss your cheek?”

Andrew’s voice abruptly deserts him, which is probably for the best, because he doesn’t trust himself to not say something stupid or outright _whine_ if he opens his mouth. He nods as he loosely wraps his arms around Steven’s waist to return the hug, and Steven pulls back just far enough to press a kiss to Andrew’s cheek, a mere inch away from his mouth. Andrew’s fingers curl tightly into the loose fabric gathered at the base of Steven’s spine - he’s pretty sure the contact is the only thing keeping him from slumping to the floor and letting the kiss burn a hole in his skin.

“She’s gone now,” Adam says. “You’re really milking this, aren’t you?”

“We have to be _convincing_ , Adam,” Steven answers. “It’s almost like you don’t want us to win this.”

“I shouldn’t even be helping you. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“We’ll share the prize with you,” Steven says with a dismissive wave of his hand as he slides through the turnstile leading into the cafeteria. Once they’re both on the other side, he reaches down to interlock his fingers with Andrew’s, and Andrew bites down sharply on his own bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he manages to comment, bumping one shoulder against Adam’s. “Soon, Adam, all of this will be yours for the taking. If we win.”

“ _When_ we win,” Steven says confidently before his eyes light up and he pulls Andrew towards the smoothie bar, which apparently has a new blend that Steven wants to try.

Once they’ve all grabbed food, they manage to score one of the prized booths lining the wall of windows that looks out onto campus and the city beyond. It’s another dreary day, not raining yet but heading rapidly in that direction, wispy gray clouds building up on the horizon. They barely get a chance to fall into conversation when Adam suddenly sits up straighter.

“Steven, your favorite person just walked in.”

“Who, Jen?” Steven’s straw pops from his mouth as he twists around and tries to peer over the high seat back of the booth.

“No, your _other_ favorite person,” Andrew picks up, leaning around the edge of the booth. He can’t see Ryan through the crowd, but he can see Shane, bobbing above the crowd in possibly the gaudiest shirt he’s ever seen, some purple and teal and blue Hawaiian disaster, and where Shane is, Ryan usually isn’t far behind.

“Oh,” Steven mutters, slumping back into his seat with a petulant look on his face. “That’s just mean, guys. You got my hopes up.” When Andrew glances back across the table at Adam, there’s a sheepish expression on his face, the look he gets when he’s trying very, _very_ hard not to say something. After a moment, Steven catches on, and he leans across the table until he’s half on top of it, one hand dangerously close to planting in Andrew’s fries. “Adam. Spill it.” 

If it was anyone else asking, Andrew is fairly certain that Adam would be able to keep whatever secret he’s holding close to his chest. As is, after mere seconds of Steven staring at him with a cartoonish scowl, Adam breaks.

“Shane and Ryan signed up for the contest too. Also, they’re about to stop here.”

He’s correct; almost as soon as Steven drops back down into his seat, Shane and Ryan draw to a stop beside them. 

“Heard you two are doing the stupid Newlywed Game thing too,” Ryan says by way of greeting, eyes flicking between Steven and Andrew.

“If it’s so stupid, then why are _you_ doing it?” Steven counters, and while it’s not the most cutting retort in the world, Andrew is still proud of how fast Steven formulates it. While he can’t quite remember exactly how the feud between the three of them got started watching Steven try to parry back and forth with the two of them is usually painful; Shane and Ryan have turned insulting banter into an art form, and Steven simply can’t keep up.

Ryan waves his burrito, still wrapped in foil. “Free food. And also the chance to beat you in front of a crowd. I know everything about Shane. There’s no way we can lose.”

“He doesn’t actually know everything about me,” Shane comments in a stage whisper, taking a sip of his tea. “Not by a long shot.”

“Shane, what the fuck?” Ryan mutters, elbowing Shane in the waist. Andrew’s pretty sure that he was aiming for his ribs, but considering how tall Shane is, it’s a miracle Ryan didn’t hit him in the ass. 

“Right, sorry. May the best couple win, and all that fun stuff. Adam, you and Annie participating too?” Adam’s cheeks turn faintly pink underneath his beard as he shakes his head. “Too bad. You guys would have it in the bag. C’mon Ryan, we gotta get to class.” With that, he wanders off, and Ryan lingers long enough to shoot a scowl (one that’s considerably _less_ cartoonish than Steven’s) in their general direction before he follows after his boyfriend. Steven glares after him, sucking loudly at his smoothie the entire time, looking so utterly absurd that Andrew can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, so we _definitely_ have to win now,” Steven says once Ryan and Shane are out of sight, stealing one of Andrew’s fries and gesturing wildly with it. “I’m calling an emergency meeting for tonight at six. Adam, that includes you. You need to quiz us.”

“Conflict of interest,” Adam reminds him, but Steven just keeps talking.

“If Ryan and Shane win, I’ll drop out. I mean it. I will move back to _Ohio_ , guys. I can’t deal with that level of shame.”

“They’ll probably get in a fight on camera and end up making out,” Andrew says, plucking the fry out of Steven’s waving hand and popping it into his own mouth. Undeterred, Steven steals another one. 

“Maybe, but we can’t take that chance.” Loosely slinging one arm around Andrew’s shoulders, Steven slides closer, until their knees are bumping together underneath the table. Andrew doesn’t know if it’s to make them believable to any prying eyes or if it’s just Steven being Steven, but the line of Steven’s arm feels hot as a flame where it’s pressed against him. “So, tonight. Quiz time. I’ll order pizza. We are _going_ to nail this.”

After that, the conversation turns to other topics, to upcoming assignments and movies they all want to see. It almost feels like a truly normal lunch, right up to Steven stealing a good third of Andrew’s food and getting jabbed with a fork when he tries to steal Adam’s.

The only part that isn’t normal is that Steven’s arm stays wrapped around Andrew’s shoulders until the moment they slide out of the booth. At that point, once they’ve tossed out their trash, he links their fingers together again until they have to go their separate ways.

It’s only afterwards, once Andrew is half an hour into a lecture that’s so boring that he can’t stop his mind from wandering, that realization hits him.

Despite the weird adversity that exists between them, Steven is still friends with Ryan and Shane. They hang out often enough that Andrew is pretty sure the two of them should know who Steven is (or isn’t) in a relationship with. Their fake dating act shouldn’t have worked on them. They should have seen right through it. 

And yet, neither of them had said a word.

Almost like they weren’t surprised.

&.

He gets to Steven’s fifteen minutes late; he had to stay after class in order to ask his professor a question, and there had been approximately seven other people who all had the same idea. By the time it was finally _his_ turn, he’d almost forgotten what he wanted to ask.

Mere seconds after he knocks on Steven’s door, it flies open. Steven’s still wearing Andrew’s sweater, but he’s changed into soft looking gray sweatpants, and he’s swapped out his contacts for his glasses.

“Thank God you’re here, I’m so hungry,” he says, grabbing the strap of Andrew’s backpack and hauling him inside. The inside of the apartment smells like greasy pizza, and Andrew’s stomach rumbles in response.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.” 

“Of course we did,” Steven says with a frown as he locks the door again. He sounds _solemn_ , like he’s talking about one of his core beliefs, and something throbs painfully in Andrew’s chest in response. “C’mon, let’s eat.” 

Andrew slides his backpack off in the hallway and follows Steven into the living room. The coffee table is taken up by a pizza box (there’s a smaller one resting on top that Andrew is willing to bet contains caramel drizzled brownies or cinnamon breadsticks or something else absurdly sweet), a stack of plates, and a flurry of napkins stolen from the cafeteria. Adam is sitting in the overstuffed armchair, Steven’s laptop balanced across his knees, peering at the screen and scrolling through what looks like a Word document.

“You two really went all out on this,” he remarks, glancing up long enough to flash Andrew a quick smile before he returns to scrolling. On cue, Andrew’s face flushes hot.

“It was mostly Steven,” he mutters, dropping down onto the couch.

“It was a team effort,” Steven asserts, sitting down beside Andrew and flipping the pizza box open. “Let’s eat first, then we can get down to business.”

Andrew tries to eat as slowly as possible, but even though he wants to delay running through the carefully curated backstory they’ve created for as long as possible (because running through it means that he’ll have to picture it all again, their imaginary first kiss and first date and all the other firsts that will never happen), it’s a losing battle - when it comes to pizza, he has little to no self-control. 

He’s just finished his final bite when Adam asks his first question.

“Andrew, what was Steven originally planning on majoring in?”

“Chemical engineering.” The answer immediately rolls off his tongue. Steven’s face lights up, but before he can say anything, Adam throws out another question.

“Steven, if Andrew had a cat, what would he name it?”

“Wellington or Cornichon, depending on what the cat looked like,” Steven replies straightaway, almost in time with the answer popping into Andrew’s own mind. He glances over at Andrew with a half-mast smile. “Right?”

“Right,” Andrew responds, and Steven’s smile fully unfurls.

“Okay, good.” After adding his plate to the stack on the coffee table, he stretches out across the couch with his legs draped across Andrew’s lap. Andrew pulls his hands, which were resting on his thighs, out from where they’ve been trapped by Steven’s calves and hesitates for a moment before he drops them on top of Steven’s legs. “What’s next, Adam?”

Much of the evening passes that way, with Adam rapidly throwing questions at them. He asks Andrew what Steven’s favorite kind of cake is (all of them), his dream vacation destination (Japan) and what his favorite hair color has been so far (lavender). In return, Adam asks Steven what country Andrew’s parents are from (Ukraine), his biggest turn-off (people who don’t like animals) and what his favorite vegetable is (beets).

Some of the questions that require them to dig into their fictional backstory are difficult to answer, but the other questions, the ones that actually have a basis in reality?

Neither of them get a single one of those wrong.

When Steven’s laptop dies, they hang it up for the night. They both help Steven with cleaning up the coffee table, after which Adam ducks out so that he has enough time to stop at his own place before he goes over to Annie’s. After he’s left, Andrew starts washing the plates and the rest of the dishes piled in the sink, even though Steven insists that he doesn’t have to. After Andrew ignores him for long enough, Steven just lets out a long-suffering sigh and starts drying.

A peaceful lull falls between them, filled only by the soft clinking of dishes and Steven humming something under his breath. Andrew tries not to let his mind wander, but he can’t help but wonder how he would feel if this was their every night together. Would he be less marveled by it the hundredth or thousandth time that it happened, or would he always feel the way he does now: like standing here shoulder to shoulder with Steven, scrubbing at plates slick with pizza grease, is possibly the greatest privilege that he’s ever had bestowed upon him?

“Thank you for doing this with me,” Steven eventually says, meticulously drying a fork and dropping it into the cutlery drawer. 

“You mean the dishes?” Andrew asks, pulling the stopper out and watching the grimy, soapy water spiral toward the drain. “You told me _not_ to do them.”

“No,” Steven laughs, drying his hands off and bumping the drawer closed with his hip before he turns around and leans back against the counter. “I mean the whole contest thing. I know it’s kinda stupid, but it would just be nice to win, you know? I’m just really glad that you’re doing it with me.” 

Saying _no problem_ doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all Andrew has, so that’s what he mumbles as he dries his own hands. When he glances to the side, Steven is looking at him with an inscrutable expression on his face, something both soft and inquiring. Even in the unduly harsh, yellowy light of the kitchen, he looks like something wholly unearthly, and Andrew swallows heavily. Eventually, he lowers his gaze, only to discover that Steven’s pinkie, where it’s curled around the edge of the counter, is only an inch or so away from his own. Even though they’ve held hands more times than Andrew can count, it’s never been in an environment like this, alone in Steven’s kitchen, and it would be so easy for him to reach over and close the space between them.

“Andrew,” Steven says softly. Looking back up is dangerous, but Andrew finds himself doing it anyways, back into that same unreadable expression.

“Yeah?” The word leaves his mouth scarcely louder than a whisper. Steven’s teeth momentarily pull his bottom lip into his mouth, and Andrew is struck with the desires to use his thumb to gently extract it so that he can softly press his own teeth into it.

Before he can get too far into that thought, and before Steven can say anything further, the front door flies open.

“Steven, I’m home!” Zack yells from the hallway.

It feels like a cold front abruptly washes through the room. Steven jumps and pushes away from the counter, and Andrew tears his eyes away from Steven’s mouth. 

“I should get home,” he says. “Got some stuff to do for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I have like five readings to do that I haven’t even looked at.” Steven’s laugh is slightly off, too high-pitched to be totally genuine. “Hopefully I can do them all before I pass out.” 

“Just have another brownie,” Andrew says, waving at the small box still resting on the coffee table as they pass through the living room. “The sugar rush will keep you going for a bit.”

“You bought brownies?” Zack asks incredulously from where he’s sprawled out on the couch. He reaches out to prod at the box, but Steven snatches it up before his fingers can make contact. 

“Not _that_ kind of brownie. Also,” he says to Andrew, “I’m impervious to sugar rushes.” It’s such a boldfaced lie that Andrew rolls his eyes.

“Sure you are.”

Once he’s scooped up his backpack and put his shoes back on, Andrew pauses with his fingers on the doorknob, not prepared to twist it open quite yet. Steven is standing a foot or so away, rubbing at the back of his neck, like he’s trying to work himself up to something.

“I know we were supposed to do more planning on Friday,” he eventually says, “but do you wanna just hang out instead?”

Andrew thinks that sounds like a great idea. Maybe, if they can put the whole contest aside for a night, he’ll be able to sink back to his normal level of overwhelmed, a level that he’s built up a tolerance to over the last year and a half.

“Sure,” he answers. “See you tomorrow for lunch?” Steven nods and steps forward into the customary hug that he always gives him when they go their separate ways for the night. But there’s something not quite customary about this one; it lasts for a beat too long, Steven’s arms are a little too tight around him, his breath is a little too prominent against the side of Andrew’s neck.

“Definitely,” Steven says once he takes a step back. It’s probably just the lighting in the hallway (which is as dim as the kitchen is glaring), but the tips of his ears look pink. “I’ll see you then.”

Andrew replays that hug over and over again for the rest of the night, right until he eventually passes out with his textbook still open beside him.

&.

As the days leading up to Valentine’s Day and the big event continue to dwindle, Steven’s dedication to making them look _real_ intensifies, which means that the amount of time they spend touching catapults through the roof.

Every time they walk across campus together, they hold hands. When they’re in class and Steven’s attention wanders, he aimlessly fiddles with Andrew’s sleeves. When they have to split up, Steven never fails to press a kiss to Andrew’s cheek before he heads off.

Andrew tries his best to reciprocate, at least enough for it to be convincing, but he has to hold himself back for his own sake, even though all he wants to do is soak up every one of Steven’s touches like bright summer sunshine. When they’re crowded together in a cafeteria booth, he doesn’t shy away from looping his arm around Steven’s shoulders. If Steven says something particularly absurd, he ruffles his hair until it’s a mess and Steven is laughing and begging him to stop. Sometimes, if _he’s_ the one bored in class, he’ll drop his hand to the nape of Steven’s neck and play with the collar of his shirt until the lecture diverts back into more interesting territory.

Thankfully, their act seems to be convincing. Some of their acquaintances comment on it, and the well-practiced lines that Steven reels out about when and how they started dating are never met with disbelief or incredulity. It even seems to be working on people they’re close with - until Steven tells Jen that the whole thing is a ruse, the only reaction she has is being pissed off that Steven didn't tell her sooner.

The problem is that their act _also_ seems to be leaking into their lives outside of school.

Even when they’re off campus, those little touches, each of them as searing as a third degree burn, don’t stop. If they’re watching a movie together, Steven will fiddle with a loose thread in the knee of Andrew’s jeans or trace patterns into the denim with his fingertips. When he hugs Andrew goodnight, he lingers longer and longer each time. If they fall asleep together (which really happens more than it should, Andrew thinks), he always blinks his eyes open to find that they’re tangled together like a nest of snakes.

And the thing is, Andrew knows that all it would take for those touches to stop is for him to ask. If he told Steven that he wasn’t comfortable, Steven would backpedal so fast that he’d probably kick up a cloud of dust. But, even though he knows he’s setting himself up for a world of pain, he doesn’t _want_ Steven to stop touching him, because asking Steven to stop would mean that _he’d_ have to stop in return. He’d have to stop running his fingers through Steven’s hair when they’re watching a movie, would have to stop absently nudging their knees together underneath the table at the library, would have to stop brushing his fingers along Steven’s lower back when they’re cooking (or rather, while Andrew is cooking and Steven is watching) in Andrew’s kitchen. 

Even though it’s only temporary, even though this is all going to be taken away from him in a horrifyingly few number of days, even though he’s going to _hate_ himself for it in the long run, he’s not ready to give this up yet.

So he doesn’t say a word.

&.

Five days before the contest, Andrew spends some time after his classes are done for the day studying with Adam. Steven was supposed to join them, but Zack had roped him into some kind of pick-up game with the promise of being able to play against Ryan, so off they’d gone.

Their first round of midterms is rapidly approaching, and Andrew has a handful of papers to write that he really needs to buckle down on. Nearly half an hour passes between them in silence, and it’s broken only when Niki, one of their friends, stops by on her way out and asks Andrew if he and Steven are still participating in the contest. When he nods, her face lights up in a bright smile.

“Awesome! We’ll be there cheering you on.”

“Thanks,” he replies, trying his best to sound enthused. It definitely comes off flat, but she doesn’t seem to notice; instead, she flashes him a thumbs-up before she says bye to Adam and heads out. Once she’s gone, Andrew means to turn back to his laptop, but he can feel Adam’s eyes on him. When he glances across the table, there’s a half-smile nearly buried underneath Adam’s beard.

“What?” he asks cautiously, wondering if he missed some kind of meaningful interaction, some look or inside joke between Adam and Niki.

“I really think the two of you are going to win,” Adam answers. It’s not what Andrew expected to hear, and he struggles to find an appropriate response.

“Thought you weren’t supposed to have an opinion,” is what he eventually settles upon. “You know. Conflict of interest and all that.”

Adam shrugs. “Still. It’s either going to be you and Steven, or it's going to be Ryan and Shane.”

“Maybe we should start planning our trip to Ohio now. Just in case we lose and need to fetch Steven back.” Andrew sighs and rubs at his eyes, sore from too many hours of staring at his computer and textbooks. “If we _do_ win, it’s only because of all the quizzing you’ve given us.”

Adam’s smile ticks up slightly, and he shakes his head as he glances back at his own computer.

“That’s not why you’ll win.” 

He doesn’t say a word after that, and Andrew is left staring at him until he shakes his head and goes back to studying. It’s not the first time Adam has said something almost unbearably cryptic, and trying to get him to explain exactly what the hell he means never works. It’s also not worth the effort at the moment, not when Andrew needs all the brainpower he can spare to compile an acceptable first draft of his paper.

An hour later, just as he’s finishing up his conclusion, Steven returns, hair flopped across his forehead, still damp from the shower. With a dramatically loud sigh, he sinks into the chair beside Andrew and drops his head to the table, which gives Andrew a view of a stray bead of water trickling down the back of his long neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt.

“How’d your game go?” Adam asks. Steven groans pitifully. “That bad, huh?”

“We _have_ to win on Friday, or I’ll never be able to face Ryan again. I _hate_ him.”

“You don’t hate _anyone_ ,” Andrew says, absently slinging his arm around the back of Steven’s chair. “Do you want to go get some coffee? I think we could use a break, right?” When he glances across the table, Adam nods. Steven sits up almost violently fast, rocks the chair back onto two legs as he twists to grin brightly at Andrew.

“See, this is why I like you, Andrew. You always have the best ideas.” With that, he presses a hard smack of a kiss to Andrew’s cheek before he leaps back to his feet and starts throwing Andrew’s stuff into his backpack for him.

Andrew’s face burns until they leave the library.

&.

Three days later, even though it’s the middle of the week, they end up at a party.

It’s being held by a friend of Zack’s at an apartment within easy walking distance of campus, so even though there are approximately six dozen other things Andrew should be doing, he agrees to go, with the caveat that they not stay long.

“That’s fine,” Steven says. Their hands are twined together, and he’s swinging them back and forth in time with their steps. “Adam and Annie probably won’t stay for long either. We can all leave together. Maybe grab dinner.”

“That could be nice,” Andrew answers automatically as he sets some goals for himself for the evening.

The first: don’t get drunk.

The second: don’t stay longer than two hours.

The third: don’t do anything catastrophically stupid. 

The last one, while the vaguest, is undoubtedly the most important.

The party is already in full swing by the time that they get there. The two bedroom apartment is crowded with people, and they add their backpacks to a small mountain in the front hallway before they wade in. Zack is out on the balcony, passing a joint back and forth with Justin, the host of the party, but he waves energetically when he spots them. Adam and Annie are sitting on a couch pushed back against the living room wall, and when Annie sees them, she points from them to the couch, which has just enough room for one person to squeeze between her and the armrest.

“Do you want me to go get some drinks?” Andrew asks. He has to lean in until his mouth is nearly brushing Steven’s ear so that the words aren’t swallowed up by the pounding music and the murmur of the twenty different conversations around them.

“Okay. I’ll go grab us a spot. Surprise me with something.”

It takes a few minutes for Andrew to push his way through the crowd to the kitchen. The drink selection isn’t super great; there’s mostly beer, along with a bowl of punch that Andrew doesn’t trust for a second, but he manages to find a bottle of vodka and some orange juice in the fridge and steals both. When he makes his way back into the living room, carefully juggling everything, Steven is laughing at the top of his lungs, leaning over with his head resting on Annie’s shoulder, looking so happy and lovely that Andrew almost can’t bear to look at him.

Almost.

Before he can spend too much time drinking the sight in, Steven’s head lifts back up, and he jumps to his feet.

“I don’t think we’re both going to fit there,” Andrew says, passing Steven his drink before he bends over to stash the vodka and orange juice bottles beside the couch. Steven takes a sip, face screwing up slightly, before he answers.

“Not unless I’m on your lap. Or, you know, vice versa.” Steven’s cheeks are definitely pinker than normal, and Andrew can feel his own mirroring the gesture. They’ve never done _that_ before, not as part of the charade or otherwise, and every logical part of his brain says that it’s an idea that fits very well under the umbrella of _catastrophically stupid_.

But, technically, it is _also_ the best option available to them; he doesn’t really want to awkwardly stand off to the side for the next hour, and perching on the arm of the couch would likely make his ass numb in record time. Additionally, although this definitely goes against his third goal, it might actually _help_ him achieve his second, because he’s pretty sure that he’s not going to be able to deal with Steven being on his lap for more than an hour without a) his legs falling asleep or b) his self-control slowly but surely whittling away, which will give him an excuse to go home.

“Alright,” he says, sitting down and hoping he sounds a lot calmer than he actually feels. “C’mere.”

Steven takes another sip before he drops down onto Andrew’s lap and nearly knocks his beer out of his hand in the process. It takes a moment for him to make himself comfortable; when he eventually settles, it’s with his back against the armrest, his legs thrown across Annie’s, and his side pressed against Andrew’s chest. Once he’s stopped wriggling like a fish on a hook, he leans in with a hint of worry in his eyes, and murmurs, “Is this okay?” against Andrew’s ear. 

Truthfully, it’s not. Not in the slightest. Steven is absurdly warm and smells utterly wonderful, and Andrew’s chest is so tight that he thinks his lungs are about to throw in the towel and stop working.

“Yeah,” he lies, draping one arm along the armrest (and around Steven, by default), and switching his drink to his other hand. “This is fine.”

By the time Andrew has finished two more drinks (which were helpfully procured for him by Adam), it’s very much _not_ fine.

Steven’s not drunk, but he’s tipsy enough for there to be a light flush covering his cheeks and trailing down his neck. A slightly lopsided smile has taken up permanent residence on his mouth, and he’s gotten even _more_ tactile. His free hand is splayed across the back of Andrew’s neck, long fingers alternating between running up into Andrew’s hair and softly tapping against the side of his throat. Every so often, he presses a soft kiss against Andrew’s temple and follows each one up with a gentle nudge of his nose. When Andrew tries to move his arm away from Steven’s waist, just to give himself a break, Steven actually _pouts_ at him until Andrew puts it back.

He tries his best, but by the end of drink number three, he’s unable to keep his mind a blank slate. If he doesn’t get Steven off his lap soon, his thoughts are going to venture into territory that he won’t be able to come back from, that their _friendship_ might not be able to come back from. 

“Steven,” he says, sitting up and leaning forward so that he can keep his next words for Steven’s ears only.

Those words, however, don’t make it out of his mouth.

He miscalculates and leans too far forward, which means that his mouth brushes against the side of Steven’s throat, right above the steady throb of his pulse. Immediately, he freezes; yanking away is bound to draw attention to himself, even though he’s sure that Steven is going to stumble up and pinwheel away from him at any moment.

He doesn’t.

Instead, his hand tightens on the back of Andrew’s neck, like he’s trying to pull him even closer, and his skin shifts underneath Andrew’s lips as he swallows heavily.

This is dangerous. This is territory Andrew shouldn’t even dip his toe into, even though the water is warm and oh so inviting, because they’re in _public_. They’re surrounded by their friends (although Adam and Annie are so busy talking to each other that Andrew doubts that they’ve noticed that something is awry). 

But he wants to know more, wants to know if this whole thing is in his head or if Steven maybe, just maybe, has spent the last few weeks suffering the way he’s been suffering.

He _needs_ to know.

Slowly, he wraps his other arm around Steven’s waist and moves his mouth again, firmer this time, presses a kiss to the side of Steven’s throat before he moves a little higher. Barely audible above the clamor of the party, he hears Steven gasp. His fingers slide down the back of Andrew’s neck and hook into his collar, while his other hand wraps tightly around Andrew’s forearm. 

Andrew keeps moving.

He presses his mouth to a different spot each time, works his way from Steven’s shoulder to the sliver of taut skin underneath his ear and back again. He lingers after every one, just for a beat, just to see if Steven’s reactions change. When the urge to slip his hand under the hem of Steven’s shirt strikes him, he doesn’t resist, and as his fingertips skate over ludicrously soft skin that he wants to explore every inch of, Steven’s fingers bite into his arm, and he lets out an unsteady, shaky breath. 

Once he makes it back to the top of Steven’s throat, a wave of boldness strikes him and, after he softens the skin a little with his mouth, he scrapes his teeth gently against the hinge of Steven’s jaw. 

The sound that leaves Steven’s mouth is shockingly loud, more of a desperate _whine_ than anything else. It’s possibly the loveliest thing Andrew has ever heard, and his head spins at the thought of how else he might able to wring it out of Steven.

Before his brain can head too far down that particular rabbit hole, Steven turns and drops his forehead heavily against Andrew’s.

“Drew,” he says, sliding his fingers up into Andrew’s hair, “I think we need to go talk about this. Right now.” His pupils are wide and dark, and he looks thoroughly wrecked, even though Andrew has barely touched him. 

Talking is definitely the best thing they could do right now, but for a few seconds, Andrew is so distracted by how close Steven’s mouth is, how badly he wants to lean in and claim it, present setting be damned, that he can’t quite formulate an agreement. 

“Yeah,” he eventually forces out, withdrawing his fingertips from underneath Steven’s shirt. He has to clear his throat before he can get the rest of the words out. “You’re right.” Steven nods, but he doesn’t move away immediately; he stays motionless, both hands still grasping Andrew, staring down into his eyes like maybe he’s reconsidering moving away.

Eventually, after shaking his head firmly, he slides away from Andrew’s lap and spits out a jumbled mess of words that might be _gotta go see you guys later bye_ before he disappears into the crowd. When Andrew glances over at Adam and Annie, they’re both staring at him.

“Well? Are you going after him or not?” Annie asks with a knowing twinkle in her eye. Adam, on the other hand, just looks unbearably smug.

“Don’t say a word,” Andrew says, getting to his feet and trying his best to glare at Adam. Based on how Adam starts smiling, it’s not a successful attempt.

“Wasn’t going to.”

When Andrew steps out into the hallway after grabbing both of their backpacks from the closet, the contrast in both temperature and noise is almost unnerving. Steven is leaning against the wall opposite the door, both hands buried in the pockets of his absurd jacket, which looks like a trench-coat that had the bottom half amputated.

Naturally, he still manages to look fantastic in it.

“Wanna go outside?” he asks. Andrew nods; even though they’re no longer in the apartment and no longer touching, it still feels like Steven’s body heat is soaking into him, and some cool air might actually clear his head.

They don’t say a word as they take the elevator down to the ground floor and exit into the dark night. It’s not raining, but there’s a sharp breeze that easily cuts through Andrew’s sweater. There’s a deserted parking lot at the side of the building, and that’s where Steven heads over to. Andrew drops both of their bags to the ground before he leans back against the brick wall of the building, still slightly warm from the sun soaking into it all day. Steven hovers a few inches away, close enough that Andrew could reach out and touch, but he presses his palms to the brick for the time being. It feels like he’s walking a tripwire, and one wrong gesture or word would be all it would take to throw him to the ground.

“I thought this was gonna be easy,” Steven begins, waving at the space between them before he jams his hand back into his pocket. “The whole pretending to date thing, I mean. But the last two weeks... they've been _brutal_ , Andrew.”

Abruptly, Andrew’s heart plummets to the level of his stomach.

“Why?” he asks, barely recognizing his own voice. Steven’s eyes go wide as saucers.

“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant! God, I’ve messed this up. Give me a second.” After a moment of frowning, Steven opens his mouth and then closes it just as quickly. He makes a few more false starts, each of which only makes the uncertainty in Andrew’s stomach churn a little harder, before he groans with frustration, steps forward and tightly wraps his fingers into the front of Andrew’s shirt. “Because all I’ve wanted to do is kiss you. I mean, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a _really_ long time, but these last two weeks? It’s all I’ve been able to think of.”

Andrew’s heart returns to his rightful place and starts to beat in double time.

“And honestly,” Steven continues, “I don’t even care about free food, or beating Shane and Ryan-”

“Those are the biggest lies you’ve ever told,” Andrew interrupts, feeling a giddy grin tugging at his mouth as he winds both of his arms around Steven’s waist and pulls him in close. 

“Okay, fine, they are,” Steven laughs. Smoothing his hands up Andrew’s chest, until they’re curled around the sides of his neck, he continues, “But I care about you more. A lot more, Andrew. And I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want this to be for some stupid contest. I want it to be _real_.”

“Then we should make it real,” Andrew murmurs before he takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes and leans forward, hoping like hell that they’re on the same page and he isn’t about to miss.

Thankfully, Steven meets him in the middle. 

Steven tastes mainly of orange juice, but the vodka is there too, a sharp hint on the curve of his lip, and Andrew tilts his head so they can better slot together. There’s not a single coherent thought in his brain; there’s just a buzzing, like there’s a hive of bees filling the space between his ears, because he’s _finally_ kissing Steven, the way he’s wanted to for over a year now: softly and sweetly and with everything he has.

He pulls away when his chest feels too tight, leans back against the wall and slowly opens his eyes. Steven’s are still closed, and he chases after Andrew, bumps their noses together.

“Was that real enough for you?” Andrew asks, letting his hands drift up underneath Steven’s monstrosity of a coat. It feels like he’s about to shake out of his own skin.

“Not quite,” Steven murmurs. “You should kiss me again. Maybe that will do the trick.”

“Worth a shot,” Andrew grins before he leans back in and proceeds to lose his breath all over again.

Time slips away. Nothing outside of the bubble they’ve created, not the amount of schoolwork Andrew has to do or the contest looming before them or anything else, matters. What _does_ matter is the feeling of the brick wall against his back as Steven presses him against it, the feeling of his tongue tentatively tracing Andrew’s bottom lip before it slips into his mouth, the soft moan he releases into the air when Andrew gets his teeth on his neck again.

Eventually, the bubble is popped when a group of people spill out the front door of the building in a mess of drunken giggles and flailing arms. One of them wolf-whistles, and Steven pulls away with a groan, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“That was Zack, wasn’t it?” Andrew peers over Steven’s shoulder and sure enough, Zack is flashing him dual thumbs-up, grinning madly. He mouths something that might be the word _finally_ before he turns to stumble off with the rest of the group.

“Sure was. Don’t think you’re going to live this down anytime soon.” With another groan, Steven drops his head to Andrew’s shoulder.

“He’s going to be _insufferable_ tonight.”

Andrew doesn’t know where the sudden surge of boldness comes from, but before he can lose it, he blurts out, “You can stay at my place. If you don’t want to deal with him, I mean.” After the words are in the air, regret immediately sets in, but before he can figure out whether he should retract the offer or try to play it off as a joke, Steven answers.

“Yes, please.” Standing back up straight, he bumps his nose against Andrew’s again. “I need at least twelve hours to prepare myself for whatever incredibly inappropriate things he’s going to say.”

“Maybe you should give yourself a full day. Just to be safe.”

“Maybe. Do you think he’ll just forget about it if I don’t go home for a while?” 

“Doubt it.” Now that they’re alone once more, Andrew’s eyes drop back to Steven’s slightly swollen mouth. “But you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want.”

“Good.” Based on how Steven’s fingers are starting to creep back towards Andrew’s hair, Andrew suspects that he isn’t the only one thinking about continuing where they left off.

“We should go,” he forces himself to say, head spinning from the heavy, unceasing weight of Steven’s eyes upon him. For a moment, Steven doesn’t answer him, and Andrew is certain that he’s going to dive back in, press him back against the wall.

If he _does_ decide to do that, well, Andrew’s more than happy to go along with it.

“We should,” he eventually says, backing away with a reluctant sigh. “But only ‘cause I don’t want to be interrupted again.”

“You’re sure it’s not because I have a very comfortable bed that we could make out in instead?” Andrew asks, taking Steven’s hand as they begin to walk towards the street.

“Okay, so that might be a factor too.” As the ground underneath their feet transitions from slightly crumbling tarmac to concrete sidewalk worn smooth, Steven glances over at him. “We don’t have to do the contest, by the way. If you’re too uncomfortable-”

“Steven,” Andrew interrupts, stopping for a moment so that he can look Steven in the eye. “We’re going to win that damn contest. By this time next year, you’ll be so sick of cafeteria smoothies that just looking at them will make you throw up.”

“Gross.” Steven grins before he leans in for another kiss, briefer than the last, but one that warms Andrew all the way through all the same. “But okay. I really think we’ve got a shot. I think we can do it.”

“Yeah," Andrew says, bringing Steven's hand up to his mouth so he can kiss the back of it before they start walking again. "Me too.”

&.

They win.

They make it through the first two rounds without getting a single question wrong. The final question of the final round (which finds them, unsurprisingly, pitted against Ryan and Shane, who manage to fuck up two questions, one about the weirdest possession the other owns and one about the weirdest place they’ve ever had sex) is the only one they slip up on.

The question is _who fell in love first?_

Both of them answer: _me_.

Of all the questions for them to get wrong, Andrew’s pretty happy that it’s that one, happy enough that he almost lurches out of his chair and kisses Steven right then and there, rolling cameras and audience be damned. 

He manages to hold himself back until later that night, until after they slip out of the after-party and go back to Steven’s apartment. 

After that, they only stop kissing when the adrenaline of the day wears off and they fall asleep twisted in the sheets and tangled around each other.

&.

By the time the first semester of junior year comes to a close, the novelty of free cafeteria food (even the pizza) has resoundingly worn off for Andrew.

But the novelty of being able to kiss Steven whenever he wants, of waking up beside him, of going on dates with him and saying _I love you_ whenever he wants to?

Well, he’s pretty sure the novelty of _that_ isn’t going to wear off for a very, very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] freeze this moment a little bit longer (make each sensation a little bit stronger)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15641250) by [Shmaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmaylor/pseuds/Shmaylor)




End file.
